


Sunny With Scattered Showers

by zempasuchil



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-11
Updated: 2009-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zempasuchil/pseuds/zempasuchil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America is doing some home repair in the bathroom and everything is going fine until England accidentally causes a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunny With Scattered Showers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abarero](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=abarero).



> thanks, Lassiter, for the beta!

England likes to think he is a DIY sort of guy.

“No,” America says, “I don’t think so. You’ll get your ivory-colored sweater dirty and then you’ll yell and throw things and pout and I’ll have to clean up the mess.”

“Shut up,” England says. “I was fixing things long before you were around to break them.”

“Hey, are you saying this is my fault? I thought we agreed not to point fingers.”

England raises an eyebrow instead, but does not point fingers. “We can both take the blame, but you’re the one who was technically leaning on the faucet when it broke.”

“And you were leaning on me!"

"I was not."

"You know that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe you should cut down on the French fries...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” England says innocently, lifting his newspaper higher to hide his face. But America knows better than to think him any kind of innocent. “Why don’t we just hire someone else to do it? Isn’t El Salvador looking for a job?”

America gasps. “Are you maligning American ingenuity?”

“No, I – ”

“Are you saying I’m not strong enough?”

“Certainly n-”

“Are you saying you don’t even want to do it yourself?”

“You won’t let me!”

“Damn straight. I won’t let anyone else do it. I mean, besides,” he says, shrugging embarrassed, “I’m not exactly rolling in dough right now. I’d better just do the repairs myself.”

“Like the yard work?”

“Hey, I have a big yard, all right? I can pay Jose to mow the lawn if I want. But this is a big project and England, England I want to do it! It’ll be fun!”

“Can I at least help?”

“... you can hand me my tools when I ask for them.”

England raises his eyes to the ceiling in supplication. _Lord, give me patience._

So he makes tea while America brings out the tools and spreads the drop cloth and gets on an old ratty pair of jeans and t-shirt.

There is clanging and banging and England can't resist poking his head in, where he sees America hunched over in the tub, holding a wrench and looking determined.

He must've made a noise, because America looks up and glares at him. "What?" he says, defensive, as though England has already rolled his eyes and wasn't just thinking of it. "Go drink your tea, let the man of the house handle things."

"I'll have you know, just because I make tea and sit in my sweater and let you do the repairs doesn't mean you're the man of the house. It just means that we have specialized skills. And you know I did all the repairs when _you_ were only a child and too small to lift a hammer, much less break a faucet."

America rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _mercantilism_ , and in turn England rolls his eyes ostentatiously and mutters louder something about McDonalds.

“You just said something about my hamburgers, didn’t you.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t.” England is staring down into his teacup.

“You’re being technical and evasive,” America says, getting up and stepping onto the drop cloth and crossing the small bathroom to poke England's chest and glare at him in an intimidating manner. “I know you’re talking about my pudge."

“America, calm –”

“But you know what? I don’t care.”

“... you don’t?” England finds this a little hard to believe, considering how much use that scale has seen in recent months.

“Nope, I don’t. Know why? Because of you.”

England is a little confused.

“Because I know,” America reaches out to place England’s hands on his hips, “that you like it.”

England pulls him closer with a sly grin and is about to comment on the usefulness of love handles when the phone rings. Never one to refuse an opportunity to tease, America wiggles free of his grasp and goes to answer it.

“Baby got back,” America says, slapping his ass and sticking it out for England’s benefit. Hiding his snickering with a hand, England says, “You could put it that way.”

-

After maybe an hour of the infernal clanging of pipes and wrenches and England trying very hard not to doubt the younger nation's plumbing skills, America shouts, "I fixed it!" and England is free to go into the bathroom without getting yelled at to go away and let America concentrate.

He leans in to get a better look at what America is caulking around, pulling on the shower curtain to keep him from falling, except it doesn't exactly do that. The curtain rod collapses under the strain, and England overbalances, falling into the tub and onto America, who knocks the bath faucet knob to full strength and causes cold water to gush _everywhere_. They are absolutely drenched and tangled in each other, their undershirts sticking to their skin and they're slipping and falling on each other and it's hardly sexy, cold and soaked as they are. America manages to struggle out from under England and stop the gush, and once he does England falls off of him and rolls out of the tub. Dripping, almost glaring at England but more like gaping in the shock of being utterly drenched, America stands there. England looks at him the same way, except from the bathroom floor.

Suddenly they are cracking up, America leaning against the wall to keep from falling over, England struggling to his feet and leaning on America, both leaning on each other and wiping tears and bathwater from their eyes.

"You - you know," America finally gasps between giggles, "I don't think you can tease me about breaking things anymore."

"What?"

"You broke it! You pulled on it -"

"That just means I'm strong!"

"- and leaned with not even your whole body weight and you broke it!"

"It would've -"

"No! Nope! I'm not hearing it! You have to take back all your remarks right now! This is incontrovertible proof that you are the heavy one who breaks things."

"You learned that word from me, didn't you."

 _Pffffft,_ , is the noise America makes. "You and I were both right here. We know what happened and you can't cover anything up."

"Muscle!"

America _pfffffft_ s again. "You owe me one! I didn't break the faucet but I fixed it, and now you broke the curtain rod."

"I'll make dinner?" England offers, lifting his hands in supplication.

America stares. "Since when does your cooking help anything?"

England sighs and mentally searches. "I'll... get you dry and comfortable?"

"That's better."

At America's smug look, England grabs a towel and wraps it around him, puts another one over his head and ruffles his hair, ignoring protests of "Hey, watch the glasses." He wraps the towel tighter around America's shoulders and holds him close, pressing the water from his own wet body through it too until there's a large spot of moisture between them.

"This drying thing would probably work better if we took our clothes off first."

England smiles innocently. "Oh? You want me to take your clothes off?"

Nuzzling England’s ear, America growls, "You owe me.” Maybe it’s the water dripping down his neck or maybe it’s America’s breath in his ear, but England’s suddenly got chills running up his spine. Shivering and smiling, England kisses America’s neck and tugs on the towel he wrapped him in, pulling him after as he walks backwards toward their bedroom.


End file.
